


Meant to be yours

by Lyrae



Series: Soulmate AUs [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (a lot of issues), (or are they?), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Divergence - The Great Game, Dammit Jim, Dark Jim, Dark Jim Moriarty, Deception, False Identity, Jim Has Issues, M/M, Minor Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, POV Jim Moriarty, POV Sherlock Holmes, Possessive Jim, Possessive Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Sherlock and Jim are soulmates, Soulmates, Soulmates but every way it could go wrong, Stalker Jim Moriarty, The universe messed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28778481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrae/pseuds/Lyrae
Summary: Everyone was born with the knowledge that there was someone, out there, meant to fit them perfectly. It was written on their skin, inside their wrists, a few words that made up the first sentence their soulmate will ever say to them. Some had a simple, blandhey, others had song lyrics, a call of their name, a threat.It could take years before you met them, decades, it could be your next-door neighbour, your classmate or your business partner, there was no way to find out before they spoke, but what everyone knew was that the universe made no mistakes...Oh really? James Moriarty would beg to differ.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty (one-sided), Sherlock Holmes/James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Series: Soulmate AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656592
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	1. Caput mortum

**Author's Note:**

> Another soulmate AU...? oops

It all began with a pink phone, five Greenwich pips and a photo of an old basement. It was a puzzle, a _game,_ and Sherlock hadn't felt this giddy in years, he could hear his heartbeat resonating in his skull, the blood pulsing through his body, the familiar rhythm of it all and the seconds that passed, marking the immutable flow of time. He could feel it all and he was _alive_. 

His conversation with Mrs Hudson already half-forgotten, he was at the door, past the threshold-

Sherlock saw the shoes lying on the floor of 221c, seemingly abandoned there, and he bared his teeth in an elated grin, barely aware of John's and Lestrade's presence. 

Oh, this would be _fun._

"Shoes. " John commented idly, keeping a cautious distance between him and the centre of the room where the trainers waited. 

He clearly remembered that their invisible opponent was a bomber, but Sherlock didn't care, he knew the other wouldn't kill him in an explosion, no, not when the game had just started and not to _him._

_Where would be the intimacy in that?_

So Sherlock ignored John's worry, ignored Lestrade who was still hovering behind them and knelt next to the shoes. 

It was when he was examining the trainers that the pink phone rang, a blocked number, an infinite number of possibilities. 

"H-hello sexy. "

And suddenly there was more at stake than his entertainment, suddenly the game had a deadline and he had 12 hours to solve the game, 12 hours or he would lose Moriarty's- because it _had_ to be him- interest, 12 hours or it would be over before it even began. 

He almost forgot about the hostage.

They made their way towards St Bart's but Sherlock was already far away from it all, he was reviewing everything he knew about the man, Jefferson Hope's sponsor, his _fan._

_Moriarty._

The name itself was enough to make energy dance in his fingertips, just beneath his skin, to make fireworks explode in a shower of light behind his closed eyelids. It was a name without a face, a curse without a recipient, a parasite without a host, and Sherlock waited for the collision of their mind like a child dropped a glass and waited for it to shatter. 

It was going to be glorious he knew, absolutely _splendid_. 

They left the cab, he was holding the shoes close to his chest, cradling them in their plastic bag. Maybe Molly would be there, hopefully she would be too occupied in the morgue though, Sherlock didn't dislike her per se, but he wanted to be able to focus entirely on his case... He really should install a lab in 221b, it would be a lot less tedious than having to go to St Bart every time his own microscope wasn't enough, but well, he doubted his roommate would be very happy if they suddenly found themselves without a kitchen seeing his earlier fit about the severed head. 

When they finally arrived, a man was already in the room, hunched over a microscope with a lab coat that was obviously too big for him, banging his head to whatever inane pop his headphones were blaring and adjusting the lenses every two seconds. He didn't hear them, didn't even seem to notice them, too lost in his studies of some kind of powder… no, _pigments_. 

The detective frowned, and probably knowing that Sherlock wouldn't be nice if he was the one confronting the stranger, John stepped forward, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Sorry mate, didn't mean to startle you." The doctor immediately exclaimed, moving back, because startled he was, seeing how he yelped and whirled around. 

The man- _there was a name tag on his lab coat, Victor, but the thing was obviously not his-_ looked at them with wide, surprised eyes, the expression making him appear like he was barely old enough to be out of college with his tousled hair and clean-shaven face. Maybe he was a student interning at St Bart's? Sherlock's gaze fell on the petri dishes lying on the table- _pigments he could confirm now, various shades from marine blue to mustard yellow with a brown currently being examined_ , on the over-sized lab coat- _borrowed from someone a lot bigger than he was and hardly as careful with his possessions_ , and the detective immediately dismissed the idea. 

No no, he didn't come here often that was for sure, but he certainly knew what he was doing with his equipment as even Sherlock couldn't find anything to nitpick about his methodical movements. 

The next second, not-Victor was taking off his headphones and placing them on the table, grinning bashfully. 

"No need to apologize, it's alright, this isn't a private lab, it's my fault for having my music so loud." he chuckled a bit, glanced at Sherlock, and then turned back to John "Do you two need the equipment? I can clear my stuff and leave, I'm not doing anything that can't wait anyway."

_Great, well everything was settled then!_

His friend smiled kindly and Sherlock could already tell what the good doctor was going to say before the words were out of his mouth. 

"You don't need to leave, there are more than one microscope and you're not taking a lot of place-"

"I need that microscope. " Sherlock interrupted, not even speaking to the stranger. It was petty maybe, he hardly needed this one, but he didn't want an audience while he was working on _Moriarty's_ case, John was almost too much as it was, he didn't need an idiotic fan intruding into this. 

"Sherlock! "

For an instant, the man's eyes glinted with _something,_ focused on John like he could see right through him, something that burned and shone with a cutting edge, but it was gone too soon for Sherlock to analyse it. 

The detective scoffed, placing the shoes on the table to show that he was, in fact, still waiting for the other to leave

Fortunately for everyone involved, Molly decided to enter the lab at that moment, her lips curving into a smile when she saw not-Victor before her eyes fell on Sherlock, the expression drifting away almost immediately, morphing into an embarrassed smile.

"Oh, hi Sherlock, I didn't know you would need the lab. " she turned to the stranger, clearly acquainted with him "I'm sorry Jim, I thought no one would come, I hope you still had the time to research what you wanted!" she exclaimed, obviously apologetic, glancing at Sherlock like he should feel sorry too. "You wanted to see if it was mummy brown right? " she was continuing a conversation they had before, that much was easy to deduce, and the name- _a nickname obviously -_ did prove that they knew each other… 

_Jim_. 

Sherlock didn't intend to remember it but as long as he was in the room, it was better than mentally referring to him as not-Victor. 

"It's alright, don't worry. " Jim said softly, shrugging "You're already making me a favour by letting me use the lab, I can hardly be mad that someone else needs it. "

So Sherlock had been right, the annoyance wasn't working at St Bart's and he certainly had no reason to linger any longer… Still, something was itching in the back of his mind, telling him that he was missing something, that everything didn't quite fit-

"And it _was_ mummy brown!" Jim exclaimed, bringing Sherlock out of his thoughts. He was flaunting one of his petri dishes to Molly, his face lit up in excitement as he showed off the burnt umber pigment "Can you believe this thing was made just a few months ago? It always feels weird to know that caput mortum was still produced in the 20th century but I didn't think someone would have the nerves to make some now!"

Molly smiled at his enthusiasm before glancing at the detective again, seeming torn between her desire to continue the conversation and the urge to quell Sherlock's obvious displeasure at being delayed. 

_Maybe he should mention the 12 hours deadline and the hostage, that would certainly make the other leave faster…_

But once again, his mind rang in increasing alarm, making him frown unconsciously because as much much as he looked at the man, he didn't see anything strange, he couldn't deduce anything out of the ordinary-

_Oh_. 

Here was the problem, he couldn't deduce _anything._

Sherlock had seen him at the microscope when he had entered the room and had noticed the pigments, noted he looked younger than he probably was and mentally commented on his musical taste, but those weren't observations, not the kind he usually made at least, those were simple surface thoughts, banal _suppositions_ at best. 

When he had met John, he had immediately seen _army surgeon, alcoholic father_ and _Afghanistan or Iraq,_ when he had visited the morgue one day and had seen the new pathologist, his mind had whispered _cat owner, sick mother_ and _lonely,_ when DI Lestrade had first arrested him for drug possession, he had heard _smoker, soon to be divorced,_ and _trustworthy._

With Jim, his mind was silent.

It wasn't so much that the man was a blank canvas, no, he would have noticed _that_ in an instant, it was that he gave a mix of contradictory signals, every sign implying something while one completely refuted the entire deduction. 

Jim was wearing plastic gloves to manipulate the pigments and Sherlock could see paint staining his fingers, a bit more on the sleeves peeking beneath the lab coat along with what looks like chalk, but he didn't have the calluses found on someone that wrote or painted a lot- _not a student, not a painter, then what? A researcher? A teacher?_

A pen was lying on the table next to his notes and the cap had marks of teeth but the way it was bitten and the neatness of his cuticles relayed boredom, not anxiety- _bored bored bored, but bored with what?_

He had spidery hands, _pianist's_ hands, his middle fingers curving ever so slightly towards his ring fingers, however his movements were not quite right for one, too direct, methodical- _Sherlock was the same, a violinist with clinical gestures, but then he was hardly normal._

"Who are you? " the question left his mouth before he could even think of stopping it, sudden, abrupt and Sherlock was not really asking for a name, he _had_ his name, what he wanted was an explanation, a reason for the lack of information he displayed, _something_ … 

Molly seemed a bit surprised by the interruption, looking towards the noise with a start before relaxing. She was about to answer when the man did in her place, the lilting voice bringing Sherlock's attention immediately back to him. 

"Hi! I'm... " Jim made a show of looking down at his lab coat, glancing at the name tag pinned on the front. He must remember the fact that Molly just dropped his name a few seconds before, or maybe he had realised what Sherlock was really asking for and was mocking him "-Victor-" _liar_ , a part of his mind noted, but the other was focused on his voice "-you're William right? " he stood up, smiled and offered his hand as any and every thought in Sherlock's mind died. 

_It was a stupid joke_ , he registered before everything stopped, the man didn't even try to pass for someone that he wasn't and he was not trying to make it realistic either, but it didn't matter because those words-

Those _words-_

Everyone was born with the knowledge that there was someone, out there, meant to fit them perfectly. It was written on their skin, inside their wrists, a few words that made up the first sentence their soulmate will ever say to them. Some had a simple, bland _hey,_ others had song lyrics, a call of their name, a threat. 

Sherlock had a small _'Hi I'm Victor you're William right? '_ inside his right wrist, a mundane greeting with a name he no longer used, common words that he always hid beneath a watch, and he hadn't thought about it in years- 

That was a lie, a complete and utter _lie,_ he liked acting as if he didn't but he thought about it every day, when he woke up, when he looked at the time, when he was working on a case, the thought was always there, in the back of his mind, and who could blame him? Who could truthfully say that they absolutely didn't care about their own words? Who could begrudge Sherlock for wishing for something everyone longed for? 

Having a soulmate meant that someone would fit him, actually like him, it meant that someone would see all of him, sociopathic tendencies and all, yet still choose him above everyone else at the end of the day, having a soulmate meant that he was not alone in the world, that there was someone out there who would be as smart as he was, who would understand him and complete him, having a soulmate meant that he was not a freak like his classmates had always said or that maybe, _maybe,_ he was not the only freak in the universe. 

A soulmate. 

He really had a _soulmate._

Of course, it wasn't like someone could _not_ have one, even Mycroft, whose right wrist had always been covered as far as he could remember must have something written on his skin. Even Mycroft had met them or could one day, but somehow, with his brother's complete apathy toward the concept, Sherlock had convinced himself that maybe the universe had just messed up when writing the words on his skin and that he would forever remain alone. 

He had accepted the idea- _a lie, again-_ and had just lived like he would have always lived his life in a world without soulmates: being unapologetically himself.

_Lies lies lies, he was in school and the other children told him that he would always be alone, he acted like he didn't care but he didn't refuse the hug Mycroft offered when he got back home, he was in uni, ditching it to be exact, and the thought of being alone in that black tar of a world made the sweet oblivion of the drugs too appealing to resist, he was in Baker Street, John was out on a date and he played the violin until his fingers hurt too much to continue as if it would help him forget the fears he didn't want to face._

But it didn't matter anymore, none of it did, not Mycroft's disinterest, not his doubts and certainly not his fears, because he was in front of him, he was _right in front of him_ , he had just spoken, turned the world upside down, and Sherlock knew he was just standing there, gaping, and _he needed to speak._

He had dreamt about this moment for years, about a faceless person, of a smile and an extended hand, and now he had it all, he had dreamt about what he should say, something unique, something the other would immediately recognise, maybe a chemical formula, maybe something simple and witty, maybe a few words to thank the universe for not making him _alone,_ he had dreamt about thousands of ways to answer but at that moment, he couldn't even recall one. 

"It's Sherlock actually. " He finally breathed out after the longest seconds of his life, grasping the man's hand, and the smile on Jim’s face was dazzling, stunning, the most beautiful thing Sherlock had ever seen because it was _his._

The other's eyes were wide and happy, so _happy_ that he couldn't help but wonder if the other man had been half as lonely as he had. 

"Oh."

It was the only thing his soulmate said, staring at his face with a reverence that almost felt blasphemous. They stayed silent for a moment, having forgotten the other persons in the room, having forgotten the entire universe, then another second passed and the moment was broken, a ripple shattering the surface tension. 

"I should probably leave now, let you work. You're on a case aren't you?" Not waiting for an answer, Jim glanced at the shoes in Sherlock's arms before tearing out a page from his notebook and writing down a phone number "Here, call me once it's done alright? We'll… catch up later." he looked resolved but disheartened and _no no no,_ the detective almost wanted to abandon the case, abandon the hostage, abandon the game, anything to keep him here-

But he couldn't, what would his soulmate- _his soulmate,_ his thoughts repeated solemnly- think if he let lets someone die like that? 

_'Probably nothing'_ his mind answered _'he's yours after all, he's meant to fit you, dubious moral compass and all.'_

Sherlock couldn't tempt fate this way though, he didn't think he could bear the thought of disappointing the man. 

Taking the detective's lack of reaction as agreement, Jim was already putting away his petri dishes, securing the caps on before shoving them inside his bag, and almost before Sherlock had any time to react, his soulmate was by the door, ready to leave-

"Wait!"

The other halted and turned around with a thin smile on his lips, head cocked to the side. 

"Yes Sherlock? " 

And he said his name like it was the sweetest thing on Earth, like it was made of nectar and ambrosia-

"I promise I'll call you soon." Sherlock said, his calm voice doing nothing to hide the fear in his gaze "I promise I will."

_So please don't disappear, please don't be a dream,_ it meant, and he knew Jim understood it. 

"Don't worry." and his eyes were dark suddenly, animated with an almost all-encompassing hunger "I've waited for years, I can wait for a few hours more. "

The words were soft, absolute, a simple truth, a mere fact-

_A promise._

Jim grabbed his bag, turned on his heels and smiled, leaving the room like he was never there in the first place. 

\------------

"What was _that? "_ John asked as soon as the other was out of the room, looking back and forth Sherlock and the now closed door "Did I miss something? " 

The detective merely stared at the microscope Jim had left on the table before sitting in the still-warm seat and carefully examining the shoes, his movements purely mechanical, his mind completely silent. 

"Sherlock?" His friend asked again, trying to get his attention when his questions remained unanswered, and the calm engulfing his thoughts was broken as quickly as it had come, everything rushing into his brain at the same time. 

_'What was that', how was he supposed to answer that question when he didn't quite know himself? How it was supposed to explain-_

His eyes fell on his watch and he mentally slapped himself out of his stupor, slowly coming off the daze Jim had left him in. 

_As much as it felt like it was, his situation wasn't unique. Everyone had a soulmate so John would understand if he just told him, of course he would, and he was a doctor anyway, he had been in the army, he had been_ taught _about this._

Slowly, he brought up his sleeves and tapped twice on the watch covering his mark, watching realisation slowly set in the others' faces. 

"Oh god Sherlock that's great! " the doctor exclaimed, clapping his shoulder with a broad grin "Congratulations! "

Molly seemed is a bit more awkward, her eyes widening before evading his, but she still smiled, saying that she hoped they would get along well-

"How do you know him? "

The shoes were forgotten for now, laying on the table where he had left them. The hostage could wait, if Moriarty had given him 12 hours for the first game, it meant that he had all the time in the world. 

"J-Jim? " _Who else?_ At Sherlock's annoyed look, she continued "Well, through some common friends I guess, he came back to England just a few weeks ago. "

"What does he do for a living? Why was he abroad? Which friends?" the detective fired in quick succession, eyes alight with insatiable curiosity, making the poor pathologist step back in surprise and John interpose himself. 

"Sherlock, hold on." He started, his voice purposely slow and calm. There was also the slightest hint of surprise in his gaze, either at his sudden intensity or at the fact that he hadn't deduced everything himself "I know you're excited right now, but I'm sure Jim would prefer it if you actually asked him himself? " _Right_ "And Molly would probably appreciate not being hounded for answers."

Sherlock's eyes met Molly's and she smiles shyly, still a bit disconcerted. 

"I don't know all of the details but I can tell you that he's some kind of consultant too at least." _A consultant?_ "He got a double PhD in Cambridge, maths and… uh, astronomy I think?" She hesitated before shaking her head, seeming uncertain "I think it's astronomy but well, he's been travelling ever since and from what I've heard, he just studies what catches his fancy, helps fix problems on pretty much everything and then leaves. "

"And his last interest is painting? "

Molly's face lit up, indicating she actually knew how to answer this time. 

"Incidentally yes! Pigments more precisely, the Tate asked for his help with some forgeries of pre-Raphaelite paintings-" 

"Hence the caput mortum, I see." Sherlock interrupted, nodding to himself. 

_A consultant… Really, the universe had chosen well._

"I wish I could tell you more… " she trailed off, glancing away before looking at him again, her expression resolved if slightly sad "But what I do know is that you two are probably the best match out there."

And with those words, she turned around, practically dashing out of the room. 

_Why did she seem so upset-_

Seeing John's sympathetic expression made him remember the fact that most people _did_ choose to continue pursuing someone even though they weren't soulmates, and that those same people did get hurt when their hopes, however misplaced they may be, were torn away from them. 

_Well, it was hardly his fault._

Sherlock turned back to the shoes, his eyes flying from the soles to the laces, catching every little detail. He almost wanted to ask for John's thoughts on the trainers, to see what a smart but ordinary man could deduce from Moriarty's hint, but a flash in his mind, Jim's wide, hopeful smile, made him discard the thought in an instant. No, as interesting as the experiment would be, he had promised he would call soon, he had _sworn,_ and Sherlock Holmes might not often promise things but when he did, he didn't go back on his words...

So he stayed silent, ran tests on the mud he had scrubbed off earlier, noted the changed laces- _4 times,_ the shows of wear more pronounced in the insides of the shoes- _weak arches,_ the traces of flaky skin on the leather- _eczema,_ and _thought._

Those had belonged to a child with big feet, one who came from- _the computer pings, indicating it found a match for the pollen in the mud-_ Sussex, a child who lived - _two blue stripes, limited edition, 1989-_ 20 years ago, a child who would have never abandoned their beloved shoes-

"Oh. "

John immediately snapped to attention, focusing completely on the detective after his exhalation. 

"What? Did you find anything? "

"Carl Powers." Sherlock knee it didn't mean anything to his friend and on another day he would have waited for a question before providing an answer, but he had no time to waste right now "My first case, 1989, a kid went to a swimming championship and had a fit in the pool, a tragic accident of course." 

"But you think he was murdered. "

Sherlock nodded, putting his cloak back on and grabbing the trainers, not waiting for his friend to follow him but still answering his silent question. 

"He was, no one seemed to care about them but his shoes were missing from his locker, _those_ shoes. "

They had a victim, now they just needed the smoking gun.

\------------

It was hours later than he found it

"Clostridium botulinum! " Sherlock suddenly exclaimed, moving away from the microscope. 

They had gone back to Baker Street since he had only needed the lab to check for the pollen and he had continued to look for different components, trying various reactions to find the poison, his thoughts whirling inside his mind. 

The shoes were 20 years old so in a normal situation he wouldn't have been able to find much, but since the mud had been new and Moriarty wouldn't have given him a lost game when he wanted to play, Sherlock had been absolutely convinced that he would be able to find something… And find something he did. 

"What? "

"The poison John, it was Clostridium botulinum! Near undetectable and extremely potent, no one would have even looked for it when they thought the death was natural."

He grinned, opening his computer and going on his blog, his fingers flying over the keyboard. 

"Now we just need to make sure our bomber knows that we know. "

_FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989). Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St._

Hitting enter with a flourish, he straightened up, his eyes fixed on the pink phone. Just like Sherlock had predicted, it started ringing merely a few seconds later, the woman's terrified voice reading out the last of Moriarty's messages:

"Well done, you. Come and get me."

"Where are you? Tell us where you are."

Once he had the answers to his question, the detective placed the pink phone in his pocket, already grabbing his own and entering Jim's number. 

"I trust you'll be able to call the Yard and tell them where the hostage is without me." Sherlock said, tying his scarf as best as he could with one hand while the other typed a message. 

"Where are you doing? Don't you want to talk to her yourself? See if she knows anything? " 

Sherlock scoffed at his friend's words, shaking his head. 

"I hardly think our bomber would have let her see or hear anything he didn't want her to, she won't know anything and she'll probably be hysterical." He paused at the doorway, his thumb hovering over the _send_ button "Do tell Lestrade about her location though, I'm sure she would be quite grateful to get out of that car. "

And before John could think about arguing, the text was sent and Sherlock out of the flat. 

_Case finished, let's have dinner?-SH_

_\-------------_

In the living room of his Mayfair flat, James Moriarty threw his head back, opened his arms wide, and mocked the universe. 

It had worked, it had  _ worked,  _ everything had gone along to his plan, perfectly oiled cogwheels twisting into motion, and now Sherlock Holmes was his. 

_ Oh god he was  _ his. 

Jim was too giddy to laugh, too elated to let the chuckles bubbling in his mouth past his lips, even the smile slitting his face in half felt sacrilegious but he  _ couldn't stop.  _ He smiled smiled  _ smiled,  _ smiled at the sky like he could somehow see the stars through the ceiling, smiled at the infinite cosmos beyond his perception, smiled because he knew otherwise he would scream until his throat bled. 

Breathe _.  _

_ In, out, in, out, in, out.  _

_ Breathe- _

He forced himself to follow the slow rhythm, hoping it would be enough to quell his ecstasy bordering hysteria, but it only seemed to make it stronger, the smell of the lab, of chemicals and cleaning products, invading his senses and dropping him back into the scene. Oh, Sherlock's face when Jim had said his words had been a work of art, more gorgeous than any of the paintings he had studied for his cover, the widening of his eyes, the perfect 'o' formed by his pink lips, the surprise mixed with the pure, unbidden _joy._

God just  _ thinking  _ about it-

He let himself fall on his sofa like an angel crashing from the sky and closed his eyes in delight, losing himself in the memories.

Of course Jim knew all wasn't won yet, soon Sherlock would solve the Carl Powers case-  _ the case that brought them together, now and in the past -  _ and contact him like he had promised, but finally,  _ finally _ , his plan was set into motion. 

Breathe, in, out, in, out, in,  _ out.  _

After what seemed like an eternity, he got himself back to working condition, humming softly as he placed the temporary tattoo on his wrist. He would need a more permanent solution soon but that should suffice for their first meeting at least… 

A few minutes later, the  _ 'It's Sherlock actually.'  _ was on his wrist, black ink contrasting nicely with his pale skin. 

_ Perfect- _

His phone chose that moment to vibrate, the noise drawing his attention to the lit up screen and the notification it currently displayed. 

Oh, his dear detective had just found out about the toxin... Time to free the hostage then, and it meant that soon-

_ Case finished, let's have dinner?-SH _

Jim grinned, his eyes glinting darkly, hellfire in his heart. 

_ Of course. See you in ten in front of St Bart's-Jim x _


	2. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes has dinner with his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter! Sorry it took so long for me to post it haha, my schedule is kinda busy alas

When the cab dropped Sherlock in front of the hospital, Jim was already waiting for him, a grin immediately brightening up his features when the detective approached him. 

"Hello again Sherlock. " he said warmly, the light from the lampposts casting shards of gold into his cocoa eyes. "You were rather fast."

Sherlock smirked slightly, stepping closer, once, twice, until they were facing each other, until their faces were separated by mere inches that tasted of infinity. He licked his lips, glanced down ever so minutely to meet Jim's eyes, and breathed out:

"Well, I had a reason to hurry, didn't I? I did promise to call soon. "

It was Jim's turn to smirk now. 

"Hmm, and yet I can't remember a call..." he said slowly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, the amusement lacing his voice "Did I not hear my phone when it rang, Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock chuckled, both at the mock accusation and the formality of it. 

"Alright, alright, I admit it, I didn't _call_ per se." 

"Well, I'm not going to complain anyway, not when now I get to talk with you directly face to face…" Jim smiled, looking lost in his thoughts for a second, far away, before his eyes focused on the detective once more "And I also prefer texting over calling most of the time so I understand. Anyway, should we get going? I didn't book anything since I didn't know when you would be done, but I know a nice restaurant not too far from here, if we're lucky we'll find a table! "

_Won over by the other's contagious enthusiasm, Sherlock nodded in agreement, wondering just where they would go and what kind of food Jim even liked…_

_Did he enjoy spicy dishes? Or did he have a particularly sensible palate? Did he prefer sweet or savoury things? What was his favourite part of a meal?_

Jim stepped closer to him, breaking the invisible wall that had stood between them to take hold of Sherlock's left arm and steer him in the direction of the restaurant, leaning far closer than he strictly needed to. His expression shone with his satisfaction, his dark eyes alight with delight, and Sherlock's protest died on his lips at the sight. Usually, he would certainly object to anyone sticking to his side like that, but Jim wasn't just anyone, was he? And this wasn't nearly as unpleasant as he had thought it would be… 

Sherlock said nothing, his slight frown quickly shifting into a smile as he listened to Jim excitedly chatter about a mathematics convention that he had attended in Lisbon, his passion tinting his voice and brightening his voice until the detective couldn't stop himself from wanting to ask questions, from wanting to know _more._

Apparently, Jim had known the host from his university days- _where had he gone to? What had he studied? Had he made many friends?-_ and Jim had been invited because of the paper he had published a few months earlier- _had Sherlock's mother ever heard of James' work? Had they met one day at one of those conventions? Had she mentioned her two sons in their conversations?_

The meeting had been rather boring and far too long, but afterwards, Jim had walked alone through Lisbon's streets in the middle of the night, gotten fascinated by the architecture, and had ended up staying there for a few months to write a thesis on the subject. 

"You enjoy the Pombaline style then? Or was it the Manueline buildings that caught your eyes?" Sherlock asked, trying to recall everything he had noticed when he had visited the city as a teen. 

His question was answered with a shrug. 

"Both? Neither? Maybe it was the mix, maybe it was the history behind the stones, I don't usually care." Jim laid his head against Sherlock's shoulder for an instant, comfortably quiet "I rarely know what the precise thing that catches my fancy is. If I'm interested in something, I just pursue it until it gets boring and then that's it… It's different for you?"

_Was it?_

_Did Sherlock know exactly what interested him when he started a new experiment at 3 am in his kitchen?_

Of course, he wanted to see the result, wanted to have some references if he needed them to analyse a crime scene later on-

But even then, sometimes what he did was completely useless, sometimes he had no other goal than to satisfy his curiosity. He got completely consumed with the need to _know,_ and once he did, he never went back to it… 

Somehow, he didn't really like that realisation. 

"No, it's not. "

Jim seemed happy with his answer, Sherlock pushed away the unrest and decided that it was what mattered. 

They ended up chatting about architecture for the rest of the journey, stopping in front of the small restaurant Jim had talked about after a few minutes. It seemed rather nice, very quiet, very casual, a French bistro with a homey interior nestled between various shops and bars. Fortunately for them, a couple left just as they entered and so a waiter quickly brought them to a table close to the windows, giving them the menu before leaving them to make their choice. 

"Do you have any recommendations? " Sherlock asked, settling into his chair. 

"Hmm… Last time I came, I took the veal stew and it was pretty good? I heard a lot of good things about their slow-cooked duck and their salmon papillote too. "

Sherlock smiled, putting down his menu after barely looking at it. 

"The duck sounds nice then, I'll see if it's worth the hype."

Once they had called back the waiter and ordered their food alongside some wine- Jim ended up taking the salmon before choosing a red Bordeaux for the two of them- they stared at each other, each waiting for someone else to speak first even after their glasses had been set in front of them... Ultimately, Sherlock was the one to break the silence, his eyes falling on his now uncovered wrist. 

"So, just who are you Mr 'Not-Victor'? "

Jim arched an eyebrow at the question, leaning back into his chair with a cocky grin. 

"Am I really to believe that you didn't squeeze out every ounce of information out of poor Molly dear? "

"As a matter of fact, I did not. " Surprise flashed inside the dark eyes for an instant, followed by… Disappointment? "Not that I wasn't curious-" Sherlock quickly added "-but John- the friend who was accompanying me when we met- convinced me that it would be better, both to Molly and you, to ask you directly. "

"Oh, I see! " Jim chuckled, shaking his head as if mentally berating himself. "James Murtagh, consulting expert on whatever catches my fancy at the moment, glad to finally meet you." he said with a bright grin, holding out his hand over the table. 

Unlike when they had first met, Jim wasn't wearing his watch and his wrist was bared for all to see, the _'it's Sherlock actually'_ contrasting against the pale skin and the blue veins. Sherlock took the offered hand, his fingers lingering on the words, brushing the letters that bound them together. 

"Sherlock Holmes." He purred, purposely lowering his voice to see the other's reaction "Consulting detective, and likewise James, I have waited years for this moment."

Jim didn't disappoint, his pulse immediately fluttered underneath Sherlock's fingertips and his pupils dilated, eating away most of his iris until only thin rings of brown were left around those shards of the void. 

_Usual signs of sexual attractions displayed, obviously interested, attracted to men, or to him at least-_

Sherlock's thoughts screeched to a halt, his eyes widening in shock. 

_Was he really experimenting on his soulmate right now?_

_John never liked it when Sherlock tested things out on him, he still continued to do so because he knew that the doctor either wouldn't notice or wouldn't get mad enough for him to leave, but what if Jim saw it as a lack of trust and refused to see him again? He certainly wouldn't miss what Sherlock was doing like John did at least…_

_They were soulmates so the other might hesitate before leaving, but that didn't mean that they had some sort of unbreakable bond keeping them together-_

"Earth to Sherlock Holmes? I know I'm pretty but I can see our meal approaching. " Jim teased, gently taking his hand out of Sherlock's grip to leave more space on the table. 

The waiter did indeed arrive a few seconds later with their plates, the young man wishing them an enjoyable meal before leaving as discreetly as he had come. 

_As the dishes were placed in front of them, Jim stared right into his eyes, into his mind, and smiled ever so slightly like he knew exactly what Sherlock had been thinking about. He said nothing about it though, he didn't ask him why he had done that, didn't tell him to stop, didn't remark on his experiment, he merely remained silent, undecipherable, and took a sip of wine._

Sherlock started dissecting his duck to avoid Jim's keen gaze, his knife easily slicing through the tender meat. Critically looking at the dish, he picked a small piece with his fork and brought it to his mouth. 

"Oh." was the first thing he said when the flavours hit his palate "I do understand why it's a popular dish. " he peered at the other's still untouched plate before glancing up, noting with surprise the fascinated gleam barely hidden inside Jim's eyes, burning embers inside the void "Is the salmon any good? "

That was enough to snap Jim out of the strange trance he had been lost in, the man immediately focusing back on his plate without looking the slightest bit embarrassed by his previous expression. It was strange really, to be facing a man that studied his reactions as much as Sherlock studied his. He wasn't used to it. 

One could argue that he had Mycroft and that everything he did was always observed during his conversations with his brother, but that was the difference: Mycroft knew him all too well, he noted what he did and knew what it meant, but Jim… Jim looked at him with the wide-eyed wonder of a child seeing a cat for the first time and barely resisting to pet it. 

It was refreshing to look at someone and see open curiosity instead of scorn, interest instead of fear. Jim didn't seem to worry about the secrets Sherlock could find out about him, just about what _he_ could find out about _Sherlock,_ and the detective had to admit that it was quite flattering to have the complete attention of a brilliant man like that. 

Oblivious of what Sherlock was currently thinking, Jim carefully cut every single one of his side-dishes in tiny, equally sized pieces, completely focused on his task until everything was perfectly ordered on his plate. Once he was satisfied with the result, he jabbed one of the salmon morsels and brought it to his mouth. 

"Hmm, I can confirm that the salmon is really good too." Jim chirped with a grin, and Sherlock smiled back, deciding not to comment on his companion's strange eating habits. 

"Picking this restaurant was a good call. "

Jim merely hummed in agreement around a forkful of salmon, obviously pleased with himself. 

"How did you discover it? " Sherlock asked between two bites of his dish. 

"A French astrophysicist took me out for dinner after I finished helping him with some calculations. "

_Astrophysicist?_

Sherlock's surprise must have been easily visible in his expression because Jim grinned, answering the unvoiced question. 

"I might consult for museums and enjoy architecture but I was initially one as well you know? I've always been interested in space… " he trailed off softly, seeming much younger in that instant, vulnerable. 

_What did Jim see in the stars? Had he glanced at the sky as a child and never been able to truly go back to Earth?_

The waiter came to take away their now empty plates and Jim used the opportunity to order a dessert, leaving the detective to his thoughts. 

Sherlock wished that he could relate, but apart from finding the cosmos beautiful- _as beautiful as an abyss in the middle of the ocean, a stygian cave reaching the centre of the Earth, as beautiful as only things that you couldn't quite comprehend could be-_ he had never been very interested in what the vastness of the universe could offer. It wasn't like space travel would be invented during his lifetime after all, or like knowing the name of the stars was very useful in his every-day life… 

"Why aren't you working for a space agency then?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side. 

"Why aren't you working for the police? " _touché_ "As a consultant, I can only pick the problems that interest me and ignore the boring ones, I wouldn't have that freedom if I worked for an agency… " Jim idly twirled his glass of wine, watching what was left of the red liquid whirl to follow his movement "Besides, people would probably be upset if I suddenly took a three-months break to study Lisbon's architecture, wouldn't they? "

Sherlock smiled, nodding. Seeing as he himself refused to work for Scotland Yard or even his brother, he could easily understand why Jim would prefer not being tied to any organisation.

"Which reminds me that I've been meaning to ask you just how you get people to come to you with all of their little problems."

Sherlock had Mycroft and the Yard giving him cases, alongside people who read John's blog now, but just how did the other get his clients?

"Oh, it's pretty simple! " Jim exclaimed, amusement lacing his voice "I just make sure to impress the right people at the right moments and afterwards they either ask for my help or talk about me to some of their friends who might need it, easy peasy."

"And for what kind of problems do they consult you exactly? "

Jim's eyes sharpened ever so slightly but the next second he was shrugging, relaxed once more.

"Everything I want to, really." He took a spoonful of the chocolate mousse that the waiter had just brought, savouring the taste before continuing "It was nuclear physics yesterday, pre-raphaelite paintings today and tomorrow who knows, maybe I'll pick up another language and help with diplomatic relations? " he shook his head "Or maybe not, last time was more boring than anything even if the caviar served at embassy parties is quite good… I could just travel around for a while if I don't get any worthwhile request. What about you Sherlock? Was your last case any good? "

The detective didn't freeze, didn't stare and didn't outwardly show any reaction other than a slight smile, but inside his mind was whirring. 

_Should he tell him about Powers? The pips? Moriarty?_

"It was… " He trailed off, looking for a word to describe what he felt, a word that fitted, even if barely. "Interesting."

_Gorgeous, elegant, life-changing._

Knowing that Moriarty had been there, behind his first case, had been there, before and now, had been there, two steps in front of him in that pool-

Sherlock had never been alone, not really, his nemesis had always stood in the shadows and now he was finally coming out to play. 

"Interesting is the least you can ask of a case. " Jim hummed softly, his dark eyes shining strangely, and Sherlock felt almost ashamed to be thinking of his opponent in front of his soulmate. 

_Soulmate, nemesis, those were two sides of the same coin weren't they?_

_If so, he was glad that flipping it had given him Jim._

"Isn't it? Far too many cases are dull these days, I was really starting to get bored before this one came along. "

Which was a gross understatement seeing the bullet holes now adorning his wall, but the other didn't need to know that. 

"I'm glad that this one was better than the rest then, it's never good for brains like ours to go around in circles. " Jim chuckled. 

_That-_

Well, that certainly wasn't what people usually replied after he said that, usually they would get annoyed by his lack of empathy towards the victims of the crimes he deemed boring or judge him for it even if they remained silent, but the other's expression only exhibited understanding… 

_Brains like ours,_ Jim had said, he didn't think he was a freak, he didn't think he should change himself to be a better man or try to help when it would only kill his genius, he didn't think Sherlock was _wrong._

The realisation lifted a weight from his shoulders and the relief almost made him miss the waiter's arrival. 

Jim sent him a knowing look- _all of his looks always seemed knowing, Sherlock couldn't help but wonder if somehow they had a mental bond that only the other could access-_ before asking for the bill. 

They split it before leaving arm in arm, walking in comfortable silence until their steps brought them near the Thames, the lights of the city reflected by the dark water. For a few seconds, it seemed like they would just relish in the quiet, relax with the sounds of life as background noise, but then Jim's voice sliced through the calm. 

"Sherlock, have you ever… " Jim waved his hand in the air, annoyed by his own hesitation "I don't know, tried a relationship before"?"

The detective frowned. 

"If you're worried about my inexperience-"

"No, no, that's not that, I'm just curious but you don't need to answer if you don't want to. "

Sherlock said nothing, leaning over the edges to peer at the inky blackness of the Thames, at the colourful reflections on the surface. 

"No, I didn't try to have one, I didn't see the use of getting close to anyone this way-" or any other way really, before John. There had been Lestrade and Molly of course, but even them weren't really his _friends,_ much less something more "-when I could tell after their first word that they weren't meant for me. "

If Sherlock had let the silence stretch for eons, Jim let it fill the rest of the eternity, a blanket of quiet settling over their shoulders for instants that felt like forever. When Jim finally spoke, his voice sounded strange, too lilting, too soft. 

"You haven't thought, for even one second, of choosing someone that wasn't your promised one? "

Did he want Sherlock to reassure him? To tell him that, of course not, he had never entertained the idea of loving someone that wasn't his soulmate? Someone that wasn't _him?_

_What if Jim hadn't been his though? What if his soulmate had been John, Molly, anyone else, and he had met Jim afterwards? Would he have picked the one fate had chosen for him or the only man that understood him?_

_'In the end, it would always have been you. '_ he wanted to say. 

"No." He said instead, because that was far easier to admit. 

"Oh."

Sherlock turned to glance at the other, surprised by how flat his answer had sounded, but Jim wasn't looking at him. 

"Why, have you? "

Jim turned to face him. 

"I've always known you would be mine and I've never wanted anyone else. " he said, eyes burning with a startling intensity "Only you, Sherlock Holmes. "

_Only you._

His phone chose that moment to ring, the shrill sound taking him aback-

No, not his phone, the pink one. 

Sherlock took it out of his pocket and answered immediately, his heart thumping quickly inside his chest. 

Three short pips, a long one, the start of a new game…

And then a voice, shaky, terrified, another hostage. 

"It's okay that you've found yourself a new friend. " the young man started, the familiar sounds of passing cars audible in the background. 

Sherlock glanced at Jim and caught the man staring at him, interest written all over his features, his dark eyes gleaming with something he couldn't quite recognize. 

"But don't rely on him, we both know that would be cheating. " the hostage continued. 

"He's not involved, leave him out of it."

Sherlock's words got no answer, the mouthpiece not deviating from the script he had been given. 

"I didn't doubt that you would guess about Carl Powers of course, clever you." A pause, the slightest bit of hesitation "Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing."

Had Moriarty been in Powers' class? What he was saying implied that he had been bullied but maybe they had merely been in the same school… Maybe they had only met once and the boy had made the mistake of bullying the wrong child. Sherlock couldn't know, not yet, he didn't have enough information to go through, and he _hated_ it. 

He wanted nothing more than to go through the school's records in the hope of finding one that fit what he knew about the bomber, but he was very well aware that files could easily be altered or misplaced. 

"And you've stolen another voice, I presume. " Sherlock bit out, unable to keep the anger out of his words. 

A part of him was enjoying the chase, the thrill, but the other wished that they could just skip all of those pleasantries, just for him to finally meet his _fan._

"This is about you and me Sherlock, this was always meant to be. "

"What, it was fate? "

Strangely enough, the response took far longer to come this time. Was the bomber busy typing the message he would send to the hostage? It was satisfying to see that Sherlock's words had hit a sore point and that the man hadn't prepared anything in advance. 

"Fate? Don't be silly dear, I abhor destiny, why would I rely on something this fickle? No, no, of course this isn't fate, this was meant to be merely because this is what I wanted. You'll soon find out that things I want always end up mine, one way or another. "

Sherlock grinned widely, the thrill of the rush heightening his focus on the call, on his mysterious opponent. 

"Not this time. "

"What an absurd thing to say when you don't know what I'm talking about. "

Sherlock could practically hear the snort laced with the words, hear the amusement behind the hostage's terrified voice. 

"I can make an assumption. " 

"Can you really?" Another pause, a switch back to the script "We'll see dear, later, but for now, let's play shall we? You solved my last puzzle in six hours, this time you'll have five." _What?_ "Rest well, you'll get the case tomorrow at eight sharp. "

The line went dead and Sherlock found himself staring at his phone in disbelief, slowly registering what had been said. The fact that he had less time was surprising certainly, but Moriarty giving him the rest of the night and telling him to rest-

A hand brushed his shoulder and the detective remembered Jim's presence at his side. 

"Was that…? " _the bomber?_

Sherlock nodded, and he was about to explain more about the situation when he remembered Moriarty's words. 

_Don't rely on him,_ he had said, the _or else_ silent but heavily implied, _we both know that would be cheating,_ and it really would, Jim was more than smart enough to offer some good help if he was allowed to… 

But cheating in this kind of life and death game wouldn't be regarded kindly, not when Moriarty was the game master. 

"I'm afraid I can't tell you more." Jim opened his mouth, about to object, but Sherlock spoke before he could "Yes, I know that your help would be invaluable, but the bomber knows that we were together tonight and he just threatened you, you are not risking your safety for a case that I can solve on my own. "

And Moriarty was _his,_ something dark inside his mind crooned, his playmate, his nemesis, his equal, Sherlock had enjoyed his night with Jim but Moriarty wasn't something that he ever wanted to share, not even with his soulmate. The elusive bomber had been following his work for a while now, since they had been children it seemed, so wouldn't it be almost disrespectful to invite someone else into their private game? 

"Fine, but please, keep me updated? I know that you're going to be busy with all that, but do send a text to say how you're doing every once in a while."

Sherlock smiled, stepping closer to the other man. 

"I admit that I usually don't bother answering texts unless they're urgent, but I will make an exception for you. "

_That was the least he could do for his soulmate, wasn't it?_

He caught a glimpse of Jim's wrist again, and the next moment he was speaking before he had the time to stop himself. 

"You know, with the way my mark is worded, I always thought that your name would be Victor." 

"Of course you did. " 

The bitterness contained in the few words was enough to make Sherlock look up, his brows knit in confusion. Jim's face was completely devoid of emotion for a second, his eyes flat, dead, and then he caught Sherlock's stare, his lips curling up in a self-deprecating smile. 

"It's not like you could have known… I really shouldn't have said that stupid joke in the first place."

_Hi I'm Victor, you're William right?_

"And it's not like you could have known that I was your soulmate. " Sherlock remarked softly. "It could have been anyone. "

_Yet…_

His eyes fell on Jim's wrist, on the _'it's Sherlock actually'_ written there, on the way his own name stood out. 

"I have to admit that I'm a bit curious about something though. " slow, careful, he only continued when he saw the interest in Jim's expression "I thought that you were named Victor but you actually knew my name-" _and Sherlock really wasn't a very common one_ "-so did you look for me before we met? "

Jim seemed to hesitate, his lips pressed together in a slight grimace. 

"I… " he stopped, looked away "I had your name but that didn't mean that I was ready to meet you."

Shifty eyes, fidgety fingers, strange expression-

"You were afraid. " Jim said nothing, staring at the Thames, and so Sherlock pressed on "Of what? "

"Sherlock, I-"

_No, he wouldn't let the other evade the question._

"Of _what?_ " 

"Not being enough, you not being interested in soulmates, I don't _know_ !" Jim hissed, whirling to finally face him, his face twisted in an uncharacteristic display of anger. For a few seconds, the only thing breaking the silence between them was the sound of his ragged breathing and then he continued, his Irish accent much thicker than before "I didn't have anything unlike you, no good and proper family, no money, nothing apart from my name and my brain. I was just a scrawny kid from The Pale, so yes, I was _terrified_ of looking for a Sherlock and finding a rich boy who wouldn't even talk to me!" he smiled and cocked his head to the side, his voice going back to normal like nothing had happened " Happy now? Was that what you wanted to hear? "

_What-_

Sherlock didn't react for a second, kept his expression stony, his eyes flat… Then his face broke into a grin, the tension between them dissolving into thin air. 

"I don't know, was it the truth? "

Jim arched an eyebrow. 

_Which part?_

"Does it matter? Maybe I didn't look for you and believed that destiny would bring us together-" he wrinkled his nose at his own words, his distaste for the notion obvious "-maybe I did but I thought that Sherlock was your surname, maybe maybe maybe, but now we're here, together at last, so tell, _does it matter?_ "

Sherlock had nothing left to do but shake his head. 

"It doesn't."

He shouldn't have asked something like that in the first place, Jim had every right not to answer… 

What had John told him to do when he messed up already? 

Oh, _yes-_

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to pry. "

Jim blinked owlishly, clearly not expecting any kind of apology from Sherlock. 

"It's alright, curiosity is never a bad thing. " he said with a small smile, peering at Sherlock through his dark eyelashes before looking away. "Well, we should call it a night, shouldn't we? You need to rest well, you won't have time for sleep tomorrow. " 

It sounded ominous somehow, and Sherlock had to fight his features to force a smile back. 

"I should be done by 1 pm at the latest, what would you say about coming to my flat after that? The address is-"

"-221b Baker Street, I know, I _did_ ask Molly unlike you, I'm afraid I just couldn't wait. " Jim grinned wider when he saw Sherlock realise just what that meant. 

"Did you spend your afternoon gossiping about me?" 

_And with Molly, of all people! Just what did Jim believe about him now? Sherlock did like the pathologist, but he wasn't blind enough not to notice the enormous crush she had on him._

"Don't be so arrogant dear, of course not-" _oh thank god_ "-We also talked about Toby, her new cat, he's a real angel apparently… "

Sherlock placed an expression of exaggerated horror on his face but broke character after a few seconds. 

"I assure you that most of what she told you was awfully romanticised, but well, at least I guess that you know where I live now. " he smiled and reached out only for his hand to hover mid-air when he realised that he didn't even know what he wanted to do "I… " _Get it together Holmes_ "I really enjoyed our time together and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow if fate allows it. "

"Fate. " Jim snorted "Why would you rely on _fate-"_

Sherlock brought his hand higher to cup Jim's cheek and the other instantly went silent, leaning into the touch and reaching out to place his hand on Sherlock's. Keeping his eyes closed, Jim breathed out slowly and smiled, the tension seeping out of his body. He seemed ready to stay like that for an eternity, his face completely relaxed, dark eyelashes leaving shadows on his skin, but then they fluttered and he opened his eyes wide to stare right into Sherlock's soul, the mix of caution and yearning emanating from his expression making him look impossibly young, impossibly _soft._

"Because fate is what brought us together. " Sherlock said gently. 

_He tried not to look too hurt when Jim brought his hand away and stepped back._

"Of course. " a cocked head, a thoughtful look and a slow smile "Well, ciao Sherlock Holmes."

Jim took a small bow and whirled on his feet, humming a tune, a song that repeated itself, and Sherlock found himself stepping forward before he could think-

_Should he hold him back? Should he stop him? Should he ask?_

_..._

He didn't. 

"Catch you later. " he said instead, and he was sure he caught Jim grinning in his reflection on a shop window. 

\------------

_Tap tap tap tap tap,_ a familiar rhythm that echoed itself, leather shoes meeting a wooden step, soles clacking on the parquet floor, again, again, _again,_ three times six minus one, seventeen steps to reach 221b Baker Street and exactly 15 seconds to regret being there. 

"Do you know where my brother is, Dr Watson?" Mycroft Holmes asked once he was inside his brother's flat, looking around with an air of bored curiosity before focusing on said doctor. 

There was no need to ask whether Sherlock was inside his room or not. If he hadn't known that already, he would have immediately deduced it when his brother didn't start torturing his violin the moment Mycroft entered Baker Street. 

So no, Sherlock wasn't inside his flat, and in fact, Mycroft knew exactly where the other was, but not the reason _why._

His brother was hardly one to go out for dinner with strangers, John Watson being the exception to that rule, and James Murtagh might have been consulted for some governmental affairs before but Mycroft was quite certain that he had never met Sherlock. It wasn't like their paths had any reason to collide unless Murtagh had suddenly taken an interest in detective work… 

Mycroft wouldn't put it past the man, he had never dealt with him first hand but he had heard that he was quite unpredictable 

John glanced at him from his comfortable position in his chair, his pursed lips making it clear that he was more than a bit annoyed by the intrusion even as he remained silent. He seemed to hesitate for an instant, probably between the urge to tell him to just wait for Sherlock- that would be petty but the doctor seemed to have a hard time putting their first meeting behind them- and answering truthfully. 

In the end, maybe because he was a polite man, maybe because he remembered Mycroft's previous texts about the Bruce-Partington plans, the second option won out. 

"I'm not sure _where_ Sherlock is exactly but I can tell you that he was with his soulmate if that helps? " He _what-_ "He'll be back soon, he just sent me a text saying that he was coming back so he should arrive in a few minutes if you want to talk to him directly."

_With his soulmate-_

Soulmate. 

_How?_

The word echoed inside his head again and again and again, _soulsatesoulmatesoulmate, and it wasn't possible, it wasn't, sixteen by six, brother, and under we go, he couldn't have heard this right-_

"I'm sorry, did you just say soulmate? I was led to believe that he was dining with James Murtagh, do they know each other? " Mycroft asked, smiling politely. 

The doctor must have simply misunderstood the situation, Murtagh was rumoured to be pretty smart so they must have hit off quickly and their conversation had looked so strange that them being soulmates had looked like the only explanation. 

Watson sent him a look that screamed _'why are you asking me where he is when you already know'_ but still answered after a second, clearly not knowing what was wrong with what he had just said. 

"Yeah, soulmates. I didn't know his name but I guess that's the same man since Molly called him Jim? The two of them met earlier this morning in St Bart's lab, realised who they were talking to and they decided to go out for dinner tonight." John frowned, crossing his arm in front of his chest "If you want to know more you'll have to ask him yourself. I told you what I did because you're his brother but the details aren't mine to share. "

_Realised who they were talking to?_

Mycroft glanced down at his own covered wrist, knowing that there was only one thing that this could mean, but _how?_

"I'm sure you realise that I hardly came here to discuss my brother's love life, Dr Watson, I merely wanted to ask him how his investigation to find the Bruce-Partington plans was going. "

The doctor's posture immediately stiffened. 

_Ah, Sherlock still wasn't working on it then._

"We're still… doing the preparative work, there's really no need to jump straight in without a plan. "

Mycroft nodded, smiling coldly, before twirling his umbrella. 

"Of course. " the tip hit the floor with a sharp _clack_ "Well, I'll take my leave then, I wouldn't want to keep my dear brother away from his rest after such a long and tiring day. "

Mycroft turned on his heels without waiting for an answer or a good-bye. 

_Tap tap tap tap tap,_ a familiar rhythm that echoed itself, leather shoes meeting a wooden step, soles clacking on the parquet floor, again, again, _again,_ three times six minus one, seventeen steps to escape 221b Baker Street and exactly 15 seconds to let his world crumble before he put it back together. 

_Soulmate._

The smile slid off his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why Murtagh? Just because it's a variant of Moriarty :)
> 
> Hope y'all liked this!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all liked this! Don't hesitate to tell me what you thought, that's always motivating!


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